December 3rd, 2006

ozarque figure

The fragrance of angels....

By way of a fibermom's blog, this came my way:

"As an antidote to pre-holiday rushing around, I offer you this very beautiful song: "Quelle est cette odeur agreable?" or in English "Whence is That Goodly Fragrance Flowing?" or any number of other translations.
This song is in the voices of a bunch of shepherds hanging around on the hillside. There they are, chatting about the football scores or whatever, and all of a sudden the scent of angels appears and completely overwhelms their senses with its beauty.

Before I heard this song, I had never even considered what angels might smell like, and I like the thought of it very much. You might remember the line from church readings or Christmas pageants about how the angels appeared to the shepherds "and they were sore afraid." This song lists the ravishing scent, the supernatural light, and the other surprising sensual experiences involved. Those shepherds were completely gobsmacked."

Which brings a question to my mind: Supposing there are angels, what would they smell like?
ozarque figure

The fragrance of angels... afternote

To me, the most heavenly of all fragrances is the fragrance of nasturtiums. (The oldfashioned classic ones, not the fancy new hybrids.) I've searched everywhere all my life long for a nasturtium perfume or cologne, and have always been told that nothing of the kind exists because the fragrance "just doesn't work" in perfumes. Too ethereal. I would therefore be really pleased if the fragrance of angels were Nasturtium.
ozarque figure

The fragrance of angels; yet another afternote...

My take on angels, from a (long) poem [at http://www.sfwa.org/members/elgin/Morgan.html ] ...

"My angels are there. I am always aware of the angels.
They have nothing to do with that simpering blond in feathers,
that spiritual salt pan, that exhausted dimpled image,
that scalloped narrow dumpling forever doing hark-and-los.
Angels are round as the world, they are great and whirling.
Their rays go out to the end of all things and come right back,
as if it were nothing. They sing songs that are thunderclaps.
They sing songs that are lightningbolts.
They take my breath clear away, they bring me in;
they carry me up to the highest sky with a roar;
they set me gently down below their splendor."

Not a word in there about fragrance -- which is a flaw for sure.